Kastori Restorations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 4) (33 page)

Typhos collapsed, and Celeste gasped. She fell to her knees and looked at him. His eyes were closed, his stomach did not rise, and nothing on his body moved.

“Typhos,” she said, reflecting on what he had just done.

With his dying breath, he had saved Monda.
He finally earned the title of savior. He saved all of us from certain death.

Behind her, a ship descended, awkwardly and out of control, but not in danger of crashing. She turned and saw it land with a thud. The cockpit opened, and Cyrus jumped out. Before he could say a word, he saw Celeste kneeling by the body of Typhos.

“It’s done,” she said. “He saved us.”

Cyrus walked over slowly, looked at the body of his brother, and shuddered.
He sees it too
, she thought.
He sees now that he’s family.

Cyrus knelt beside her and hugged Celeste, letting her weep gently on his shoulder. She looked at her deceased brother, wondering what could have been. Things had gone so well for him for the first fifteen years of his life, and he had everything lined up for him to succeed. Sure, he had the cocky, carefree attitude, but so did Cyrus. It frightened Celeste to realize that up until the fifteenth birthday of each brother, aside from the world that they grew up in, they were the same.

And then circumstances ruined Typhos. His father died, and his mother abandoned him for a second chance at raising a son. The council passed him over, in large part because of silly politics—some of it justified, some of it not.

Celeste could not help but wonder how much of her brother turning into the villain was the fault of his own versus his horrifying circumstances. He was responsible for the death of those he had killed, Celeste knew that. He was liable for destroying the worlds that he did.

But was he at fault for feeling anger at a father who never opened up to him? How could he not feel betrayed and hurt by what Aida, later Erda, had done to him? Celeste could only imagine what Cyrus—or even herself—would have done had they known sooner Erda was their mother and if Dad had abandoned them as teenagers, whether through death or through an entirely different reason.

Looking at his body, with its numerous scars, burns, and disfigurations, she saw the life of Typhos as a tragedy more than a symbol of evil. He could have been the savior. He could have led the Kastori to great heights, to new worlds where they would coexist peacefully with others, and to new understandings of magic. He had, in a twisted way, accomplished all of those things. But he had done so in the name of getting rid of a pain that he never realized was unnecessary until her sword had pierced him twice, the second time turning his very own ultimate black magic against him.

The difference between us and you, Typhos, is not nearly as wide as humans and Kastori would like to believe. We took the same road for so long, and we diverged at a fork far down that path. The fork split into very distinct paths, but that didn’t change how similar we were before.

She decided then that for as long as she lived, she would ensure all humans and Kastori would live together and appreciate each other’s past. She wanted to guarantee that everyone knew and understood the other. Hatred toward humans is what had led Typhos to his most destructive ways, and she had to make sure that the legacy of her brother was to ensure no future battles took place. She accepted that history would see Typhos as a homicidal psychopath, and she knew she could not change the perception.

But if she could change the actions of future generations with his example, she would consider that redeeming enough. Reputations could stay the same. People’s actions could not.

She turned away from her brother, giving him one last smile, and turned to Cyrus.

“It’s finally over,” she said. “Finally. The fighting is done. No more monsters. No more destruction. No more evil side of Typhos.”

Cyrus, perhaps sensing the moment, for once didn’t say anything. He instead hugged Celeste tight, and Celeste felt the same thing.

Utter relief. Relief so overwhelming she just wanted to collapse to the ground, feel the grass underneath her back, and not move for a good two weeks.

But then another fighter came and landed just where Cyrus had parked, and the two of them quickly ran over to the jet.

57

The monster dissolved.

Crystil couldn’t believe it.
Celeste did it. She actually did it.
The monster didn’t crumble into pieces. It just seemed to vanish into thin air, as if a massive fire had incinerated it into nothing. But not even a fire appeared. The only clue she saw was a light green aura appearing around the beast as it dissolved.

She looked to the ground. The corpses of the Calypsius monsters also began to disappear, disintegrating.

“We… did it,” she said, at first not believing it. “We actually did it!”

Crystil uncharacteristically screamed and yelled for joy as she danced inside her cockpit. They had actually done it! The enemy that had caused them so much anguish over the last few years, the man who had destroyed multiple worlds and had nearly done it to Monda… defeated. Celeste had somehow defeated the greatest power in the universe. Monda would remain whole. The Orthranian Empire was restored.

Wow.

“Celeste, I owe you—”

“Approximately one hundred miles left.”

“Oh, really,” she groaned.

She lurched the jet back toward the base, but about fifteen seconds later, she realized that she would not make it back. But despite a painful ejection to come and the loss of a ship, Crystil couldn’t stop smiling. Surviving a parachute fall felt like the easiest thing she’d done in nearly two and a half years. She’d fought men with magic, monsters that could control matter, and other beasts she couldn’t describe. Deploying a chute was a drill she’d mastered in the first week of flying.

With thirty miles to go, Crystil angled the ship to the ocean, ensuring that the fighter would crash harmlessly. She double-checked all of her systems and ensured she could eject safely.

One minute later, the ship ran out of fuel.

Even with no fuel, the fighter continued to glide in the air, on an unchanging crash with the waves of the ocean. Crystil waited until she had gone as far along the land as possible, and just when she saw the beach beneath her, she braced herself, clutched the eject handle, felt an overwhelming force crunch her neck, and lifted up out of the ship, watching her fighter continue to sail harmlessly into the ocean.

Her parachute deployed without worry seconds later, and Crystil turned to the base, approximately twenty miles west. She could only imagine the cheering and celebration that would be going on there and throughout all of Monda. Capitol City, despite the damage it had suffered in the previous few years, had never looked so promising. Where she had before seen damaged, burned, and completely absent buildings and landmarks, she now saw an opportunity to build anew, to use the knowledge and skills of the Kastori to build an integrated society where each could help the other. Neither had to live like the other, but both could give advice and input on how to improve their own lives.

Most joyfully, she saw opportunity for herself. She would not have to rebuild her life a third time. She would not have to grieve the loss of a second husband. Even from her vantage point, she could see Cyrus’ ship on the ground, damaged but not destroyed, without smoke rising from it. He had surely survived such a fall. If he had survived all of his encounters with Typhos, controlling a plane with his magic for a bumpy but relatively easy descent would mean nothing to her.

The world was saved. She, Celeste, and Cyrus were saved. The sun had just begun to break the horizon, signaling a new day to come.
We are going to celebrate all day and all night. It’s not going to end until we pass out. And then we’re going to sleep for a week.

She threw her arms up in celebration, screaming in exultation as she slowly descended back to her home planet.

58

Cyrus’ heart raced as he expected Crystil to emerge from her fighter, jump down, embrace him, and fly in the sky in his arms.

But then Garrus appeared with a smirk.

“Sorry I’m not as pretty as you were expecting, Cyrus,” he said with his usual hearty laugh. “But it’s nice to see you’re alive after your little tumble!”

“Nothing a little magic can’t handle,” Cyrus said, blissfully ignoring that the impact felt like getting thrown against a wall and that he had probably suffered some skeletal injuries in his back.

Garrus jumped down from his jet and embraced both Orthrans, then looked over at the body of Typhos.

“Is that—”

“Yep,” Cyrus said. “Celeste did it.”

“I’ll be,” Garrus said, a sound of awe in his voice. “That guy locked me up and tortured me in ways I didn’t even think were possible. Good riddance.”

Cyrus had expected to feel the same way when he ran up to Celeste upon landing. But it hadn’t quite gone that way. He saw a face similar to Celeste’s, in terms of eye color and general shape, and felt frightened at how what Celeste had always said—“he’s your brother”—now was obviously true. He didn’t feel pity that he had died, but instead, a sense of wonder—what if Typhos had not been so bad? What if Typhos had come to Anatolus to learn and not to destroy?
It would’ve been a little cool to have a brother, I guess. But that’s not going to happen now.

“Cyrus! Celeste!”

Both of them turned away from Typhos to see their father walking down the path to the palace. They both sprinted to their father and embraced him. Cyrus just giddily laughed. Celeste shed tears. Pops did both. Garrus smiled in pride and walked over to some of the other soldiers and Kastori who had followed the Emperor home.

“It’s over, Pops!” Cyrus shouted. “You’re the Emperor once more! The Orthranian Empire is restored!”

Cyrus pulled back and patted his father’s shoulder aggressively. One small detail kept him curious—his father didn’t seem quite agreeable to what his son had said. But the smile and laughter from him put Cyrus at ease.

All we’re missing is…

“Garrus!” Cyrus shouted. “Where’s Crystil? Did you hear anything from her?”

Garrus shrugged and shook his head. A knot began to form in Cyrus’ stomach, even as he told himself that Crystil would be fine.

“I think she shut off her radio after you said your farewells. So who knows.”

Cyrus grimaced but then heard the sound he’d hoped to hear.

The last fighter in the sky.

“Guess we won’t need our sensing magic after all, huh?” Cyrus said with a smirk to Celeste, whose broad smile and cheerful laughter was a welcome sound to him.

The fighter screamed toward them but started veering slightly off-course. Confused, Cyrus sensed for Crystil. She was alive and fully functioning—was she going to vanish for a vacation somewhere? Was this her idea of making someone chase her?

Then he heard a loud whoosh and, with the light from the sun just starting to crack the surface, saw Crystil ejecting from her plane. It seemed as if the sun itself was shining a light on Crystil, who slowly parachuted down toward the beaches a couple dozen miles away.

“I’m almost tempted to make her walk home for that little stunt,” Cyrus said as voices of the soldiers around them rose in celebration and good cheer. “She needs the exercise anyways. She’s been cooped up in that cockpit for so long.”

Celeste couldn’t even fight back against him. With a laugh, she began cheering with the other soldiers.

“You’ll be seeing her soon enough,” Celeste said with a beaming smile. “How soon just depends on how nice you want to be to her.”

“Doesn’t matter to me, I know I’ll be happy tonight,” Cyrus said, his face radiating as he hugged Celeste tightly. “She’s coming home. We’ve come home. The three of us, huh? Thought we were the last survivors of humanity, and here we are. Just three of many survivors of humanity and Kastori.”

Celeste smiled back as she let herself fall into the arms of her victorious brother.

59

A brisk night had fallen upon Monda many hours later. About two miles south of where she stood, Celeste could hear the still-ongoing celebration at the palace. People danced, laughed, shouted for joy, drunkenly screamed in triumph, and cried in celebration. The celebration had started as soon as Crystil had met up with them a couple of hours later, but Celeste hadn’t seen it. She told herself that she would eventually join them.

At the moment, she was not there to celebrate. She did not plan on jumping, dancing, or laughing.

She was there to give a proper funeral to Typhos, one that his father and mother had both had.

She had constructed the pyre herself, a quick platform of branches and sticks that supported her brother. It was by no means as tall or impressive as the one Erda had rested on, but for the size of the audience—just herself—it would do the job. She had picked up his body and gently laid it down. Seeing his face still brought a shudder to her, for every time, she saw Cyrus in fifteen years. She considered constructing a mask to put over his face, for he had lived much of his life in such a form, but decided against it. She was laying to rest Typhos, her brother, not Typhos, the villain.